


there's a panic in this house and it's bound to surface

by musicspeakstoo



Series: boy you was battle born [8]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-11
Updated: 2017-10-11
Packaged: 2019-01-16 00:03:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,608
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12331506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/musicspeakstoo/pseuds/musicspeakstoo
Summary: Jason races to Gotham as soon as he hears about the Clench, but it's still not soon enough.





	there's a panic in this house and it's bound to surface

**Author's Note:**

> hi there! I know it's only been a few months since I updated this verse but it feels like a lot longer because this is in the earlier part of the timeline than I'd been writing. I was rereading this verse and I realized how much I missed it, and this particular fic has been patiently waiting in my notes for over a year so better late than never, I suppose! I know I've been writing these out of order, so to help you keep track, chronologically, this comes before "i can't take blame for two" but after "rich boy, poor boy." Unbeta'd as usual, all mistakes are mine, title from the Killers' "A Matter of Time," aaaaaand i'm back on my "posting after midnight" bullshit. Enjoy!

The moment Jason hears about the Clench being loose in Gotham, he hauls ass down there. Gotham may no longer be where he lives but it’s always home and he’s got a vested interest in some people who live there. He’s not fast enough, though, because by the time he gets there, he can tell something’s wrong.

It’s in the fact that Alfred comes to greet him from the part of the Cave they use as a medbay, and the look on Alfred’s face.

Jason’s just gotten off his bike when he sees it, and so his helmet slips from his hands to hit the floor, “Oh, shit, Alfie please tell me no one’s dead.”

Alfred sighs wearily, “No one is dead, Master Jason.”

“But someone’s got the Clench. No, wait. B’s got it. Fuck, Tim better be extra careful.”

Alfred seems to age a dozen years as Jason speaks, and that’s when it hits him and his legs give out.

“Oh God, it’s Tim. He’s the one who has it, right?” he says, clutching the handlebars of his motorcycle for support.

“I’m afraid so, Master Jason,” Alfred says gravely.

Jason takes a deep breath, processes this, then asks, “Can I see him?”

“As long as you don’t touch him, you may.”

Jason nods and staggers his way toward the medbay while Alfred goes about whatever he was doing before Jason showed up. He pulls back the curtain and sighs heavily at Tim lying on the gurney. From what he understands about diseases, Tim’s probably sleeping on his own but Jason’s also sure Alfred’s given him something to make him stay asleep.

There’s a chair next to the bed, Jason sinks down into it. He'd expected to come here and immediately be sent out into the field, to be useful. Or that B would tell him to go home and they'd fight about it. He didn't expect anyone to be hurt, despite knowing it was a possibility. And fuck, he was not prepared for it to be Tim.

“Jesus, kid," Jason addresses Tim's unconscious form, "I can’t believe you’re gonna make me do the whole bedside confessional thing. What a cliche.” 

He looks at Tim, hooked up to a dozen machines and out of his layers of armor. Tim looks so small, smaller than he’s looked to Jason since the first time they’d met, when Jason had no knowledge of the steel in him.

Jason clears his throat, “I really hope you live through this, kiddo. We haven’t hung out much, relatively speaking, and some of that’s my fault but I want the chance to...to, shit Timbo I dunno. I guess I always thought corrupting you would be like taking B’s favorite toy and twisting it, making you more like me. Not sure why, maybe as a reminder to him that I’m not dead and that I may no longer play by his rules, but I still matter.”

He swallows past the lump in his throat, surprised to find himself tearing up.

“But you just had to go and be a contrary shithead and now I’m kinda stuck with you.” He pauses, struggling to say the next part even though there’s no way Tim’s gonna hear him. “The heart of it, kid. The thing you need to know the most is that I’m not Dick. I’m never gonna be your big brother, I’ve just fucked up too much for that. I can still be your friend, though. I’ve _liked_ being your friend. Teaching you all the shit Dick can’t and Batman won’t. ‘S been like I imagined, only a lot more fun. And between you and me, Tim, I think you’ve rubbed off on me a bit.”

Jason closes his eyes and takes one deep breath after another. He starts to open his eyes and say something else, but can't and eventually just sits in silence.

~~

He must fall asleep there because the next thing he knows, he’s woken up by the sound of yelling. He creeps quietly to the edge of the curtain, which Alfred must have pulled forward again and peers out.

Dick is in his ridiculous Nightwing outfit and Bruce is in the suit, but he’s got the cowl off. Both of their body languages are tense and angry, with a bit of weariness thrown in. It’s been a long night for them, Jason guesses.

“You should have been watching out for him! Not ditching us like you always do,” Dick is saying.

“Robin is perfectly capable of handling himself. If he wasn’t I would not have let him out into the field,” Bruce replies tersely.

Jason lifts his eyes to the ceiling, exasperated. Bruce is so fucking stupid sometimes, Jason despairs.

It only infuriates Dick, “That’s not what I fucking meant. _You’re_ overwhelmed out there, _we’re_ overwhelmed out there, you could at least act like you don’t think this is Tim’s fault.”

“Robin should be alert at all times.” Bruce is practically made of stone, “We have had this discussion before, Robin’s behavior is not your concern, I don’t even know why you continue to argue with me—”

“Because he’s my fucking kid,” Dick roars.

It’s dead silent in the Cave. Jason sucked in a sharp breath at Dick’s outburst and he can’t seem to let it out again. Even Bruce seems shocked.

Dick is panting and furious and Jason notices for the first time that he’s placed himself between Bruce and Tim.

“He’s not—” Bruce starts, but Dick’s not done yet.

“Yes he is! He’s my kid, mine! _You_ don’t seem to care about him, his _father_ only cares when it’s convenient. Which, by the way, always sucks for Tim and don’t you think this is going to make it worse?! When he lives through this, because he’s fucking pulling through or I swear to God, Bruce…” Dick trails off, too angry to speak.

Dick visibly forces himself to take a few deep breaths before continuing in a calmer, but no less terrifying voice, “Since neither of the appropriately aged male figures in his life seem to be up to full-time concern over his well-being, I’ve had to pick up the same slack. And I am _not_ going to let your inability to cope with emotions do to Tim what it did to Jason.”

Every muscle in Jason’s body locks. He hasn’t really seen Dick since the night Dick told him to stay away from Tim. They’ve occasionally exchanged case information, but those were brief, businesslike transactions. It’s never occurred to Jason that Dick thinks about him on his own time, not really.

Bruce is an immovable object and Jason thinks that if they start screaming again they might wake Tim, drugs or no drugs, so he steps out of his accidental hiding place.

“Can you two take it someplace else?”

They both turn to him, startled.

“Jesus, the kid’s lying in a hospital bed, fighting for his fucking life, and you two still manage to make it about yourselves,” Jason distantly realizes that he’s shaking. “You’re both un-fucking-believable, you know that?”

Dick at least has the sense to look ashamed, while Bruce is still doing his best statue impersonation. At least, until he abruptly turns around and walks off toward the computer. Way to prove Dick’s point there, B.

Dick walks wearily up to Jason and Tim. His face seems to collapse in on itself seeing Tim and part of Jason feels viciously glad. Dick _should_ feel guilty. No one watched out for Jason and it nearly got him beaten to death, then blown up and no one watched out for Tim and now he’s got a weaponized strain of Ebola. Jason shouldn’t be the only one feeling like shit about it.

They stand in silence for a while, watching Tim sleep. Jason keeps going over the fight he just saw in his head, and thinks of the other ones he witnessed while Robin and from afar. And though Dick’s the chatterbox out of the three Robins, it’s Jason who breaks the silence.

He shakes his head, “Y’know, I never understood why you and he fought so much, not even when I was fighting with him. Seemed like we were fighting two different kinds of fights. I honestly just figured it was something I’d get when I was older, a superhero in my own right.”

“That’s just it, though,” Dick replies, tearing his eyes away from Tim, “when I was fourteen, I didn’t even think about the possibility of being my own hero. I always thought I was going to be Robin, Boy Wonder, forever. But then I turned fifteen and I started chafing against it. I had my own friends, my own team, and I wasn’t the same kid who created Robin anymore. I wanted something else, something new.”

There’s a beat of contemplative silence on Jason’s part before he says, “He never told me. About the colors and the name, I mean. I’d assumed it was something of his from when he was younger. Babs had to tell me about your mom.”

Dick makes a face, “Yeah, I’d realized that after a while.”

Any other time this would be the moment they reconcile, but it feels cheap with Tim fighting for his life right in front of them. Maybe once this is all over, he’ll swing by the ‘Haven with a six-pack, pray Dick overlooks the fact that he’s not of legal drinking age, and then they’ll go from there.

For now Jason says, “Glad he’s got both of us watching out for him.”

“Yeah,” Dick says softly.

They both watch Tim sleep, standing guard for the youngest Robin.


End file.
